I wrote it
rehearsed it
performed it
I owned it.

The spotlight, hit me just right and casting my gaze through the haze of blue smoke which rose from the cigar smoking crowd,
I announced quite loudly,my name
and my game was to be a night full of poetry,
if they had the time for it 
I had the rhyme to hit them head on.
and then I was gone,
full on in a twister 
a blistering piece about pulsating quasars,black holes and lasers,wrists cut with razors in the dead of the night,
I had them alright
there was a silence that stunned them,then I shot them with love songs,short rhymes but long lines,
then before they recovered and came to their senses,a poem followed on about the pretence that men favour
and the flavour of lies that lick off the tongue,another twelve bored out shotgun and a run in with death that undressed them,slightly depressed them,
and a funny rhyme about Harry Lime which the older ones got and the young ones did not.

Taking a ten second break to await the applause,I cut it off short,got caught in another rose,a tinctured vial full of prose,elastic and bending,sending this crew into waves of delight,
it was late night in Wigan or it may have been Crewe,I wasn’t so sure but the audience knew and I didn’t care there was lots more to get through,and the words partied out,spread about the seated like spice heated so hot, it would burn them, or it would not,
another shot from the stage,the rage of a victim on Jeremy Kyle,held out in my words,another funny one,make them smile,they never forget that,
they may forget me
but they’ll remember my poetry.


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